


What it Feels Like (For a Girl)

by objectlesson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost straight sex, Gender Play, Gender or Sex Swap, Humor, Incest, M/M, dean's into it, dub con, sam's temporarily a girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4619370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates witchcraft unless it temporarily turns his little brother into his little sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What it Feels Like (For a Girl)

**Author's Note:**

> …I…I don't have an excuse for this one. I haven't written wincest in YEARS? I actually did write the first 6,000 words of this (basically everything before the sex) sometime around 2013. I'm between projects right now and using this time to finish old things that are still good, and this, miraculously, happened to be one of them. It's as close to straight sex as I have EVER written so of course, it's still hella queer. I think its kind of hot. 
> 
> Also, all the poking fun as SJW types is meant in jest. I would love to turn the winchesters into women so that they could learn a thing or two, trust me. Enjoy!

When Dean busts into the motel room, the first thing he sees is a _girl_. A tall, gangly girl, all splayed out on _Sam’s_ bed wearing _Sam’s_ shirt, her shoulder length brown hair radiating out from her head like a halo, strewn across _Sam’s_ pillow. 

First thing he thinks is, _Damn. Girl’s got a nice ass._ After all, it is nice. The kind Dean likes, taut and compact like she does a lot of squats or something. Then, the reality hits him, and he thinks, _wait. There’s a girl, in Sam’s bed. Not in mine_.

He stares for a moment, almost sloshing shitty gas station coffee from a styrofoam cup over his wrist, burning it. If it was a dude, he would have had the sawed-off shoved into his back in seconds. After all, it’s a stranger. In their room. But it’s _not a dude_. It’s a _girl_. A girl with a great ass, the kind Dean likes, all taut and tight and compact like she does a lot of squats or something. She looks like she works out, at least from behind. _This girl_. In Sam’s bed, a tall, gangly girl who even for all her tallness and gangliness and fitness, still can’t fill out the huge, deflated balloon of Sam’s white cotton V-neck. 

Sam himself is nowhere to be seen. That does, for a second, send a little thread of suspicion- bordering-on-panic through Deans body. But honestly, if there’s a girl conked out in his bed _(how did she get here? when did she get here? How did I not notice her when I got up this morning, How did I not hear them_ fucking, I know the sound of Sam fucking Dean thinks, rapidfire) then Sam could easily be cleaning himself up in the bathroom. Brushing his teeth. Transforming into the kind of guy who actually picked up and fucked girls, instead of the kind of guy who lived with and fucked his brother, who he didn’t have to lift a finger to impress. 

Dean doesn’t hear him in the bathroom, though. Maybe Sam went on a walk to the gas station, to meet Dean and warn him that he brought a girl home, to tell Dean to take the Impala out for a leisurely drive so he can try out her reverse cowgirl. 

Suddenly, it occurs to Dean that when he _left_ on his coffee-run, he _saw_ Sam. He looked at him while he shrugged his jacket on and grabbed his keys, like he always does. Sam, tall and broad and wearing that same shirt, sprawled out in that same position. On his stomach, his thighs splayed, his one arm above his head, the other curled up against his body. Great ass laid out like some buffet to eat from. The kind Dean likes, taut and compact like he does a lot of squats or something.

A million very scary possibilities suddenly surge through Dean’s head, all of them revolving heavily around the fact that _Sam is not in the room_ , and he immediately sets the coffee, forgotten, down on the table and stomps over to the bed that was formerly Sam’s. He doesn’t care if this girl is just a little slip of a thing, that she’s asleep and defenseless. He doesn’t know where Sammy is, and twenty minutes ago, he was _in the bed dent she is currently occupying_ .Which leads Dean to assume that wherever she was then, Sam is now. 

He hauls her up by her toned shoulders, rolls her over onto her back, shaking her awake, not caring how rough he is or how startled she seems as she lurches awake, sleep-hot and disoriented.   
 “What the hell have you done with my brother?” He shouts, and she’s sure as hell not sleeping now, eyes hazel brown and startled, forehead bunched up in a very familiar way. He’s straddling her, knees on either side of her strong looking thighs, and god _damn_ , the knit of her brows, the curl of her lip, the way her hair is oily and cow licked in back...

“Dean. Fuck. It’s me,” she says, narrowing her eyes, twisting in his grip, cotton shirt crumpling under his fingers. “what’s wrong with you.” 

Dean blinks at her, digging his knees into her thighs. “How do you know my name?” he demands, iron in his voice, “And what have you done with Sam?” He shakes her once, hard, and she tears out from under his grip, blocks his next advance like a fucking pro. 

“Dean! The hell is your problem, I’m not--” Then, her eyes widen, long-fingered hand releasing Dean’s forearm to clutch around her throat. “My voice,” she mutters, carefully, and then her eyes fly open again, pupils blacking out the brown. “Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” she wheezes, struggling out from under Dean, who clutches for her as she scrambles off the bed. “Let me _go_ , need a mirror,” she runs to the bathroom, stumbling like she isn’t used to her legs. And it’s the damnedest thing, the way she walks, the way her shoulder lay and the way she rakes her hand through her hair. The damnedest thing. It hits Dean. 

He can place all of it, _all of it_ , anywhere. Her sweaty, sooty smell. Her expressions. Her fantastic ass. _That’s Sammy_ , he realizes, stunned. _Dunno how, but it’s Sammy._

He rubs his face with a palm, numb. 

She throws herself into the bathroom, and flicks on the light. “Dean,” she breathes standing upright and turning stiffly to face him. It’s weird, now that he knows it’s Sam, how strange it is to not have his body blocking out the whole doorframe. Just this little narrow thing, tall but not nearly as broad and looming, though she is still _ripped_ for a girl. “What. Happened,” Sam forces out, like he’s grossed out by his own voice and doesn’t want to use it. Her voice. Whatever. Dean is at a loss, and just stares at her. 

“Sammy,” he finally says, and he feels kind of bad for thinking it since her brow is all knit up and she looks pissed and terrified and like she will _skin him_ if he makes a joke, but _shit_ , she looks good. He looks good. Whatever. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Just sit down.” He opts for saying, instead of, _Damn, Sammy. Love you the way you are, but_ damn. He pats the bed beside him, gingerly. 

Sam walks over after regarding Dean for awhile. He’s moving like he doesn’t know how to use this new body, like it’s weak and unstable. It’s a little heartbreaking, watching his massive, incredible-hulk-of-a-brother wobble around like the last unicorn. Dean is trying very, very hard not to laugh. It’s more not-funny than it is funny. But still. Sam. _Sam,_ the girl version of him. He stifles a snort that’s half groan, and receives a glare. 

Sam sits down next to him. “So. You didn’t _recognize_ me?” he asks, sounding huffy. This close to Dean, he--she--doesn’t seem that much smaller. It must be the shirt, dwarfing him. 

“Give me a break. You have tits,” Dean says gruffly, shrugging, even though now that he’s figured out the babe in the bed _is_ his brother, it seems absurd he ever thought otherwise. She seems so very obviously Sammish, now, with upturned nose and high cheekbones. “I was distracted.” 

Dean expects her to roll her eyes, to give him that _don’t give me shit, dude, this is serious_ look, but instead she just widens her eyes again, face twitching to smoothness before bunching again. “Oh god,” she says in a voice that is also familiar, the Sam-before-puberty voice Dean hasn’t heard in more than ten years. Her hands rise, tentatively, to her chest, where she fixes her gaze. She squeezes the handfuls of flesh, experimentally. “This is too weird.” 

“C cups? They look like C-cups” Dean tries to say it professionally, or observationally, but he ends up clearing his throat instead, very aware of how unprofessionally it comes across. He’s met with the fiery burn of Sam’s glare again. 

“I don’t know,” Sam snaps, still fondling himself and wincing. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Are you sure you’re not gay,” he mumbles, reaching out for Sam’s new chest, which he is, of course, _dying_ to get his hands on. Experimentally, maybe. Just to feel. Because he’s totally taking this whole thing seriously. 

“Hey!” Sam says, swatting Dean’s hand with a powerful slam of his--her--forearm. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Just wanted to give you an expert opinion.” 

“Jesus _christ_ , Dean, can’t you tell that I’m _distressed_ and don’t want to be _felt up?!_ ” he spits out, blocking his chest with folded arms. Then, that shocked expression again, the widened eyes, the pursed lips. “Oh my god.” He breathes, like he’s just realized something _bad_. Dean’s heart stops, just for a second, as he watches one of Sam’s hands slide down his stomach, under the waistband of his too-big boxers, and between his thighs. “Dean,” he gasps, looking terrified. “ _It’s gone._ ” 

Dean almost says, _of course it is, Sam_ , because it’s not like when he saw this body sprawled out on Sam’s bed, he assumed she had that kind of hardware. But then, the reality sets in. The dickless reality. The fact that _Sam,_ his Sam, who he loves getting on his knees for and sucking off, who he loves to feel grow hard and thick and hot in his palm, who splits him open so wide when he pushes him onto his stomach and fucks him like fucking is his art...is _dickless._ Which of course, is an _awful_ fate. Dean loves chicks, but he loves his brother’s dick more. It’s a fucked up thing, but it’s the truth, and it might not be the most fucked up thing about him, so he doesn’t really wonder too much about it anymore. 

This affliction can’t be permanent. It just can’t be. So Dean decides they’ll figure it out, they always do. And in the meantime, what that leaves Dean with is not a _dickless_ Sam. But a different Sam. Sam, _his_ Sam, with different, equally appreciated (and often, very missed) hardware. In this moment, it occurs to Dean how very, very badly he wants to fuck his new brother. Sister. Whatever. Babysister, _fuck_. That is fucked up. And hot. 

Dean stifles the ugly, enormous need to tell Sam how sincerely they should take advantage of this opportunity because he does know, on some level, that he shouldn’t be objectifying Sam in his new body. He should be trying to find a way to get him out of it. 

Because it is temporary. Or at least, Dean is banking in it being temporary. He imagines, just got a second, that it’s not. And then, the thought, _what if he’s stuck this way?_ And hell, if the fear and resistance and complete and total _rejection_ of that idea had hit Dean a few years ago, he might have had a sexuality crisis. But he’s beyond the petty bullshit of sexuality, now, fucking your brother will do that to you (incest trumps homosexuality, Dean always says) so the idea doesn’t send him spiraling. 

He feels more capable of setting aside his fantasies for the moment, to deal with the current issue. Because he does _not_ want it to be permanent. 

Sam is sitting stiffly next to him, hugging herself, looking like she just found out she had two months to live. “Hey, hey, hey. Sammy,” Dean says, clapping her on the back and rubbing up her spine. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna fix this, so let’s think about it. What happened...let’s just retrace our steps. What did we do yesterday, who did we run into who could have...” 

Sam clears his--her--throat, and tilts minimally back into Dean’s touch. Dean thinks he must be the only familiar flesh in the room right now, for Sam, so he tries to make himself available without making himself creepy. “Um. I think I know who did it.”

“Yeah? Well?” Dean pushes, impatient. 

“Um, what was her name. Quin,” Sam spit curtly, dragging his--her--hand through the whorls of oily hair falling into a glum, grey face. 

“The hippie?” Dean asks, calling a round face and white-girl dredlocks to mind, but the other details hazy. Quin was worker at the crystal shop they hit up yesterday, where they thought they might collect the receipts of the last months purchases to see if any one was buying ritual materials in bulk or something. She had been kind of unhelpful, kind of bratty and anarcho-punky, but not turn-you-into-a-dickless-guy type of bratty. Dean wrinkles his nose. “You sure, Sammy?” 

“Yes. I’m sure,” Sam sighs, rubbing at his adam’s apple (or where it usually was, anyway) with his palm. “She didn’t like me. Told me I was...uh...encroaching on her space, or something. Also told me I should check my privilege, and that I was making a ‘classist assumption’ when I took the receipts. I don’t know what her problem was.” 

“A fed-hater. So? We get plenty of them at those moony-wow-wow shops,” Dean says, brushing it off. He’s having a hard time believing that some angst-ridden, patchouli wearing teenager had the magic juice to turn his brother into a girl. It seems improbable. She was like, nineteen years old and stoned yesterday. 

“No, it was more than fed-hating,” Sam starts. Dean feels stuck in that voice, that familiar-but-not-familiar pitch coming from Sam’s lips...only _not_ Sam’s lips. Thin, trembling, like always. But, _shaped_ different. Peaked. Fuller somehow. Dean should really stop staring. It’s not like he doesn’t stare at Sam’s mouth _normally_ , when he’s in his usual body. He does, all the time. Catches himself in the act every goddamn day. But this is different. He feels _weird_ about staring at girl-Sam’s lips, because he’s worried he’s not supposed to. It’s like he’s back to being the most fucked up twenty-year-old on the planet, checking out his baby brother in a totally fucked up way, only this time, he’s staring at his baby sister. Checking out her lips as they form around new words in this new voice, and unsure in the same way his young self used to be, the _fuck I’m a terrible person feeling_ , the _I don’t even know if he’s into this_ feeling.

“Are you _listening_?” Sam bitches, snapping her fingers (rough, tan, heavy-jointed like the finger’s he’s used to having push inside him only narrower, with more curve in the nails). 

“Yes. I mean, sorry,” Dean says, lurching out of his reverie. “Sorry. I just...this is weird.” 

“Shhyeah. You’re telling me,” Sam snaps. “Anyway, as I was saying. This Quin girl...I think she did it. Because I pissed her off for some reason. I got the feeling she thought I was guilty or something--”

“Guilty of being white?” Dean pipes up, trying to be helpful.

Sam rolls her eyes, but nods. “Yeah. Guilty of being white, and tall...and male.” 

“Huh. You got all this out of her from a fifteen minute fed-impersonation conversation?” 

Sam nods, wringing her hands together, sitting with her knees apart. It’s a very Sam position, but it looks weird in this smaller body. “I went to college,” she says. Dean watches, fascinated, as Sam elaborates. “It was a fifteen minute conversation, but she said a lot. She was very opinionated. I definitely got the feeling she thought I needed some kind of education or something...like I couldn’t possibly understand her hardships. ” Sam smiles weakly. It’s the _I remember the apocalypse_ smile. 

“So...you think she was a witch? Doing some hoodoo to turn you into a girl, so you...knew what, what it was like, or something?” 

Sam shrugs. “Beats me. But my bet is on her.” 

They sit silently for a moment, and Sam hangs her head, hands rising cautiously to squeeze at the loose hang of her tits under the white fabric. Her body has traces of the old Sam in it, and Dean isn’t having a hard time seeing them, but still. This Sam is so _different_. The lines of him--her--are different. The curves, the planes, and undoubtably, the feel. The shift of skin over muscle and bone, the scars and the taste the same, the look and feel of it all a new thing to discover. 

Dean’s dick, the treacherous bastard, stirs in his jeans. “Okay then, Sammy,” he says, hand coming up to her shoulders again, rubbing down the ladder of bones and tense tendons nestled between scapula like something scared and hidden. “I’m gonna go to the crystal shop, see if I can get anything out of her. See if she can correct the curse or the spell or whatever she’s done. Fucking witches,” he grumbles. 

Sam nods, face still flat and discouraged. “Yeah. I’d come with you, but, my pants won’t stay on.” 

_Fuck, Sammy. Gonna kill me like this. Gonna make me feel guilty for wanting you all over again._ Dean thinks, and stomps out the door. 

\---

Quin fesses up without much of a fight. Says something to Dean about how Sam “needed to be put in his place” and “could benefit from from perspective taking,” all the whole leaning against the counter and smacking her cinnamon gum, winding a dredlock around her index finger. Dean wants badly to put _her_ in her fucking place, but can tell that it’s a lost cause. There are bigger fish, with less cannabis in their systems. Fish bigger than 5’4 and older than seventeen. Plus, she says the spell will wear off in twenty four hours, and that he’s welcome to come kick her ass if it doesn’t. 

Dean sulks back to the motel room, stuck feeling somewhere between a kicked dog and an old man, the type who grumbles about “kids theses days.” He kind of admires her spunk, but on the other hand, witchcraft is one big, scary can of worms to open for the sake of vigilante feminist justice, or whatever she thinks she’s practicing. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that his sister is gonna be his brother again in less than twenty hours, and that means Dean has less than twenty hours to seduce her. Or, at least convince her that fucking around with his new body is easily the best way to spend less than twenty hours, especially of those are hours where Sam can’t wear pants. 

He busts in for the second time that day, and Sam is where he left him--her. Sitting on the edge of the bed looking lost, pissed, and upset, hands clutching his chest. “Have you gotten off on the fact you have a pair of free, unprotesting tits to feel?” he asks, tossing his keys onto the table next to two cups of now-cold coffee. 

Sam shakes his--her-- head. “Who says they’re unprotesting?” he snaps. 

Dean shrugs. “Sorry, Samantha. Just, that’s what _I’dlet her go_? What if she’s skipping town, Dean? What if she--”

“Cool it. She’s not going anywhere. I swear, she wasn’t evil or anything...just stupid and playing with matches, I scared her straight out of the occult, trust me. The internet, man. Kids learn some crazy shit on the internet.” 

Sam still has a _face_. Bunched up, twitching, lined through one million times in that characteristically _Sam_ way. God, so cute. Dean wishes he could laugh, wishes he could find this whole thing funny, but _fuck _.Since when is his brother funny? Since when are girls in oversized clothes, girls with perfect asses and high, sharp cheek bones and thin, chewed lips funny? Since when are those things combined anything but _unbearably hot?_ __

__“Dean. If I don’t have my body back by tomorrow morning, you are hunting this girl down, for me, you hear? I _cannot take this_ for another day,” Sam grinds out. “I feel so...wrong.”_ _

__Dean cocks his head, regarding her. “Come on, Sammy. Can’t be that bad. I mean, you look _good_. It’s just for a day, enjoy it. Think of it like an experiment...how many dudes get to feel what it feels like to be a chick?” _ _

__Sam looks at Dean like he’s crazy, brows drawn to the center of her brow, eyes slits of black. “Easy for you to say. You _have_ your junk intact. Plus, everything is a porno for you.” _ _

__“Not everything,” Dean says, thinking of one of two things which are, indeed, not pornos._ _

__“You’ve been _ogling me all morning_ ,” Sam snaps. _ _

__Dean’s face falls. He really thought he had been more subtle than that. “Yeah, but I always ogle you.”_ _

__“It’s different,” Sam argues, voice impatient. “I’m half your size. You’re still you and I’m...I don’t know. You like girls. You like them better...” Her voice cuts off, eyes dropping to the carpet where she’s digging her toes into the fibers sitting like a dude with her elbows resting on splayed knees. “Do you like me _better_ this way? Is that why you let that Quin girl go without roasting her on a stake?” _ _

__Dean suddenly has rocks in his stomach. Because Sam’s got it all _wrong_. He definitely, ten hundred percent does not want his brother to stay this way. Sure, he--she--is smokin’ hot with that ass and those new curves and that tight, fit frame...but when it comes down to it, she’s not the Sammy Dean grew up with, practically raised, died for, _lives_ for. Or, she’s not _all_ of him. And sure, Dean can appreciate a nice pair of tits, and when he cruises a bar looking for a lay, guys are not usually his top-tier preference, (though he makes exceptions every once and awhile), but Sam...Sam is Sam. Sam is the most constant, most important fixture in his life, and Dean will learn to live with whatever incarnation he has him in, but the preferable one is, always, the original. In short, Dean wants _his_ Sam back. _ _

__He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Sam is jerking away from him, face pinched in protest, Dean’s fingers lost and lonely where they hang. It’s an old habit, something he’s done forever, just reaching our and carding the tips of his fingers through the back of Sam’s hair, for comfort, to comfort, whatever. Bobby loves to look at him weird when he does it, that _you should do that shit behind closed doors,_ look. Sam is giving him that look, now. Dean snatches his hand back. _ _

__“Sorry. Can’t help it,” he mumbles. He clears his throat, scrutinized under Sam’s dark, darting eyes. “Sammy. If we couldn’t find a way to turn you back, I could live with it. We could figure it out. But honestly, the _honest to god truth_ , man...is that...well, I want your old body back as much as you do,” he said, voice stumbling out of him. There is really no graceful way to say _I love you no matter what, but I fell in love with my brother_. Hell, there really isn’t a graceful way to say _any_ of that sentence. Dean clears his throat again. _ _

__“I doubt that,” Sam snaps._ _

__“You listen to me. I’m only gonna say this once, okay?” Dean leans down, locks his own eyes with Sam’s in that way that always meant serious business. Sam stares back, thinner, more shapely eyebrows drawing together defiantly. “If that Quin kid doesn’t keep her word, I will do whatever it takes to get _my brother_ back, you hear me? I want you back the way you were, Sammy. Need it. Need your cock.” _ _

__Sam drops her gaze, cheeks heating up visibly, shoulders hunched uncomfortably around her ears because she can tell Dean is being serious, and she doesn’t have any scathing retort for that. “Okay,” she grumbles eventually. “Jesus.”_ _

__“That’s my boy,” Dean says, slapping her on the back. The smallest, frailest ghost of a smile twitches onto her lips for a moment before it disappears._ _

__\---_ _

__They spend some time researching sex-swap spells, just for good measure. Most of the stuff they find is comforting...all glamour that shouldn’t last for more than a few days, unless the witch is extra powerful, and even then glamour is _rarely_ permanent. Sam actually starts to relax a little, getting less and less hunched over his laptop, his--her--shoulders slackening. A grin, the kind with _teeth_ goddamnit, actually flashes across her face for second at some joke she cracks about at least not having a period, and Dean’s stomach flips over at the white shine of it, the familiar way it splits her face. _ _

__“No, think about it,” she snorts, clicking through witch websites, head cocked. “It would be a pain in your ass, too. You’d have to go to the drug store and buy me tampons. Think about the humiliation.”_ _

__Dean rolls his eyes, arms braced on the table, a safe foot or so away from Sam’s elbow. “You act like I’ve never seen that stuff in my life. I’ve gone on tampon runs more times than you can _count_.” _ _

__“Gross,” Sam says, reaching out and closing her laptop, sighing. “I mean it could be worse, I guess. This whole girl thing. But it still sucks. What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day? Just sit here and look pretty?”_ _

__Dean coughs. He has a few ideas. He’s not sure if it’s time to drag them out of where they’re hiding, though. He thought maybe he’d start that after he convinced Sam to drink a couple of beers or something. “You _are_ awful pretty, Sammy. Gotta admit.” He tries to make it come out teasing, a joke. The goading between brothers. Instead, his mouth is dry. He sounds way too serious. It’s kind of embarrassing. _ _

__Sam’s eyes fall back on Dean, a smirk twisting her mouth. “I swear to god. You are _so_ transparent. And single minded. It’s kind of sad, dude.” _ _

__Dean throws his arms up in the air, giving the fuck up. “Oh come on, Sammy, how the hell do you expect me to act?! You woke up in a chick’s body! Think of the fucking _possibilities!_ I mean, haven’t you ever _wondered_ , what it...you know, what it feels like...”_ _

__“For a girl?” Sam sneers, one brow raised, her lips drawn over her teeth. “Okay, Madonna. _Not_ everyone is like you. Sex is _not_ the first place my brain went to when I woke up a C-cup.” _ _

__“I actually think they might be closer to a B.”_ _

__“Fuck you,” Sam snaps, sitting up and collapsing on his bed. He--she-- is still wearing that oversize white V-neck, which has ridden up a few inches, revealing a strip of tan skin, smooth and lickable, above the waistband of Sam’s boxers._ _

__Dean drags and hand through his hair and sighs deeply. “You’re telling me you’re not even _curious_ about what an orgasm feels like with different parts? What girls feel like when they--” _ _

__Sam sits up, abruptly. “Sure I’m curious. But that’s not the _point_. I feel too _weird_ and out of place in this body to even _begin_ to think about _touching it_. Its like... _wrong._ And dirty. To think about sticking my hand down there and turning myself on. I don’t want to _touch_ it. And not because I’m _gay_ , don’t give me that look, I _will_ slug you.” _ _

__Dean is about to say _I’d like to see you try_ , when it dawns on him what Sam has just said. He raises his brows, rubs his palms together carefully. “Yeah, okay. I get that, I get that it’s weird. To touch yourself. But, hey. I mean, I’m here, Sam. And I’m not squeamish about whatever you got down there, I--”_ _

__“Wow, Dean. You are so noble. And generous. Offering to fuck me so I can discover the mystery of the female orgasm. That’s really nice of you.” She grabs one of the pillows off the bed and chucks it at Dean. “Getting your dick in me has been _all you’ve been able to think about_ ever since you figured it was me. Admit it. You’re a pervert.” _ _

__Dean dodges as white cotton sails past him. “Aw, Sammy. Don’t be like that. I don’t want to just _come_ in you, I want to figure you out. I mean, it’s _you_ , in a new body. of course I want to fuck that body, too. Make you come, anyway I can,” He stops himself, realizing how ridiculous he sounds. “Forget it,” he says gruffly, ready to turn around and open himself a beer because jeez, if Sam’s not gonna fuck around with him, it’s gonna be a long night. _ _

__“So, this isn’t some weird porn thing?” Sam asks, voice a little softer._ _

__“Dude, when has it _ever_ been a porn thing with you?” _ _

__Sam shrugs. “I guess never.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Dean says._ _

__They stare at each other for a minute, and Dean studies his brother. His sister for a day. Same brown hair missing its usual auburn hues because its unwashed, same mole near the mouth, same prominent collarbones. Same Sam, just different in ways Dean’s not acquainted with yet. And he wants to be. He cracks his knuckles, and eventually Sam says, “It would be really weird. If we did it, you know.”_ _

__“Sam. The fact we do it at all is weird. Our lives are weird. This would be like a cherry on top of the weird sundae. It would be fun, cherries are _fun_.” He tells Sam, omitting the part where he also tells him--her-- that she has a stick up her ass and could use some loosening up, goddamnit. _ _

__“Yeah but. It would be weird for me. To have you touch this body that I don’t even know yet.”_ _

__“Dude. If I was a girl for a day, are you telling me you wouldn’t want to fuck me? Wouldn’t it bother you to know you missed the opportunity to have me in a way you hadn’t before, and never would again?”_ _

__Sam cocks her head thoughtfully. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. But wouldn’t _you_ feel weird letting me fuck your new, awkward girl-body?” _ _

__“Um, no,” Dean answers honestly. “I would be riding your cock all day, honestly. I mean come on.”_ _

__Sam grimaces and says “I guess you’re right,” but his body language is changing. Slackening a little bit, uncoiling. Dean notices._ _

__“See?” Dean says, already dropping onto his knees, hands reaching out for hers, the same scars and bruises darkening the joint. He notices that her legs are still unshaven, the hair darker and thicker around the ankles, leaving her thighs almost smooth. Her quads clench up, but she doesn’t pull away. Somethings twitches in her brow, and Dean raises one hand to smudge it away with a rough thumb. “Come on, Sammy. It’s me.”_ _

__“But it’s not me.”_ _

__“Yes it is,” He says, voice muffled as he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh and _fuck_ , it is exactly how he imagined it, the musky, burnt, sweat-and-gunmetal Sam smell, with something underneath. Something new. Something sweeter, some hormonal thing that’s different, some softness that gives in her skin. Breath huffs out of him, and she relaxes a little, moving the leg he’s snuffling against so her heel is resting on his back. _ _

__“I might not be able to come. It might be too weird,” she warns. Sam’s fucking characteristic grey-cloud of unfun coming to rain on their parade. That’s fair, though. Dean rubs his hand up the other thigh, makes a fist in her muscle._ _

__“That’s fine. Then I’ll stop. We’ll resort to drinking and watching bad TV,” Dean flicks his gaze up to her eyes, and she laughs hollowly. And yeah, that’s Sam. Sam through and through, that dry laugh, that flickering tic in the brow and temple. “Gotta tell you, though. I’m real good at this. I might surprise you.”_ _

__She rolls her eyes, kicks him a little on the shoulder. “I know how good you are.” Dean nods, kisses up the inside her thigh, where the skin gathers and tenses under his lips, then goes slack, gooseflesh in its wake. “At taking dick up your ass.”_ _

__He uses his teeth on her thigh, gently. “Oh, you’re a real nice guy, Sammy. Real nice.”_ _

__“Hey, it’s true. Ever consider I’m all bent out of shape about this because I might never get to see your ass stretched open around my--”_ _

__“Shuddup,” Dean mumbles, close enough he can smell what’s between her legs now, the spicy dark smell that really isn’t that different from Sam’s usual junk. His mouth is watering. His hands are shaking as they hook fingers in the waistband of her boxers. “You’re not staying like this.”_ _

__“Better not.”_ _

__“Better not,” Dean echoes. “But, for now. Let me go down on you, okay, Sammy.”_ _

__It’s not really a question, and it seems like Sam’s given up on the whole self-conscious thing. She flops down on the back, her back bouncing. “Okay. Fine. Knock yourself out.” Her hand waves in the air. “I’m indulging you.”_ _

__“Fuck yeah,” Dean says, thrilled, dick already getting hard from the smell of her, growing warm and heavy in his jeans. “Ass up,” he says, tugging Sam’s boxers down her raised hips, then down off her feet. Then, he parts her thighs. Beholds her. Inhales. Yup, this is fucking perfect._ _

__Despite his alleged predilection for porn, Dean has never been into the baby-soft, shaved-all-the-way look. A hot girl is a hot girl, and he’s never complained about what’s between her legs regardless of how it’s styled, but he’s always been a little stoked to find hair there. It makes the whole experience more intimate, messier. She smells like herself and her on musk instead of soap and shaving cream. And here, now, this. Sam is sure as hell not shaved, not even a little bit. He can’t even really see her inner lips between all the dark curls. It’s like a fucking present to open._ _

__He touches her. Draws his fingertip down her slit, parting the thatch of hair, pulling it apart so he can get close to her, her skin and her smell which is so overwhelmingly Sam he forgets for a second that anything is different. He kisses her, right on the hood, nudging the bump of her clit with his licked lower lip. “Geez, baby. Even as a girl your dick is big.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Sam says, shifting. His-- her---voice is kind of low. At least for the girl version of her. Maybe this isn’t so fucking weird for her after all._ _

__“Yeah. Like it. Love that, girls with big clits. Somethin to suck on.” He exhales, breath hot and damp and close. Sam’s thighs twitch under his palms._ _

__“Dude. Are you sure _you’re_ not gay?” Sam grumbles. Then, “Oh fuck. That’s actually. Wow.” _ _

__Dean would say something, but his mouth is full of his brother’s clit and the only thing that has ever felt better is when his mouth is full of his brother’s cock. It’s fucking _perfect_. He licks up her slit, tonguing under her where she’s already swollen and hard. He sucks it into his mouth, humming, totally fucking pleased with himself that he can make Sam’s body respond this quickly, this willingly, even when it’s a different body. _ _

__“Good?” He says, releasing the suction for a second, but keeping his lips on her clit, slick and soft, bushing against her as he talks._ _

__“Yeah. Actually.”_ _

__“Feel different? As a girl?” He says between licks up between her lips, every crease of her, down to where she’s starting to get wet, that familiar salty coppery smell of Sam._ _

__“Um...no. Kinda, yeah, actually. I mean, you’re closer. I can feel your stubble on my thighs. And kind of...I don’t know. It feels like my entire dick is in your mouth.”_ _

__“Dude, that is awesome,” Dean announces before diving back in. He fucks his tongue up inside his sister, wiggling it in as far as he can reach, trying to taste her slickness and darkness. And it’s _Sam_. So Sam, so unquestionably Sam under his tongue, inside his mouth. She arches off the bed and he slides his hands under her ass to palm it greedily, just like he always does when he blows Sam. _ _

__“Gonna make you come like this,” he tells her, kissing up her thigh and into the hollow of her hip while he feels around inside her with his thick fingers, pushing past clenching tightness into her hot body, smooth and tight. “With my mouth, my hands. Get you all wet. Then I’m gonna fuck you.”_ _

__Sam snorts, hand coming to the back of Dean’s head, dragging his mouth within kissing distance. Their faces banged clumsily together, Sam’s breath from these new lips huffing across Dean’s mouth as she says “Funny hearing all this coming from you. This is the stuff I say when we’re fucking. It’s like my tits make you suddenly toppy and--” Dean cuts her off, kissing her hard and sliding his palm up her stomach to her chest because _fuck_ he just remembered that she has _tits_. _ _

__He squeezes handfuls of flesh, thumbing nipples, rucking Sam’s shirt up so he can get his mouth on her. Surprisingly, her eyes go dark and kind of hazy as she shifts so he can push her shirt up around her neck, like it turns her on to see Dean so turned on, to know he wants his brother so fucking bad and in every way, so much so it doesn’t even _matter_ what he looks like. _ _

__Dan stares, awed, at Sam’s tits as he exposes them. Sam is tan and firm all over, evenly brown from shirtless jogs or whatever. Dean realizes he rarely sees girls without tan lines and she looks _so good_ , bronze and lickable and taut everywhere because Sam’s work-out routine is that of a fucking _machine_. “Fuck, Sammy,” he murmurs before dropping his head and sucking Sam’s left nipple into his mouth, working into firmness with his teeth and tongue. _ _

__“Whoa,” Sam says breathlessly, seizing up under Dean’s mouth, hand tightening into a fist in his hair. “That _definitely_ feels different.” _ _

__“Yeah?” Dean groans, pulling away and teasing her nipple with the tip of his tongue as he thumbed over the other one, squeezing and palming and throughly enjoying himself. “How?”_ _

__“More...um. Sensitive? Ah I dunno it almost hurts its so intense. But it’s good,” Sam sighs, chest rising and falling rapidly with weak, ragged breath. “Jesus,” she adds, thighs tightening on either side of Dean’s body._ _

__Dean smiles against her skin, thrilled she’s letting go a little, actually _enjoying,/i > the absurdity of this whole thing instead of being a freaking prude like Sam always tries to be. He kisses across her sternum, just soft brushes of his lips before he realizes he’s being gentler than he usually is with Sam, and just because he’s a she right now shouldn’t change that she likes it rough. He brings his teeth his into the kisses, chewing down her golden ribcage before sucking the other nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. __ _

___“Fuck,” Sam whispers, tensing up and then, miraculously, bucking her hips up and into Dean. “Ok.”_ _ _

___That _ok_ sends knives into Dean’s guts, makes his dick twitch hard against the firm, tense ladder of his baby sister’s abdominals. He rolls onto his side, pushing Sam’s thighs apart and feeling her again, fingers slipping easily into the slick crease of her, up to the first knuckle. “Christ, Sammy,” he breathes, stunned by the slippery sheen on his fingers as he withdraws them to suck on. “So wet already. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.” He teases over her clit before rubbing it decidedly with two fingers, cock throbbing at how _good_ Sam feels under him, panting and circling her hips to meet him. “Alright?” He asks, dipping down into her again. _ _ _

___“Yeah,” Sam says breathlessly. “So good. Want your mouth again,” she mumbles, spreading her thighs siders to accommodate Dean, pushing him down with one palm firm at the crown of his skull. “Want you to eat me out.”_ _ _

___“Fuck,” Dean grinds out, palming his cock as he shimmies down to the foot of the bed, using his other hand to spread the dark, puckered gather of her lips so he can see the slick pink shining inside. She looks goddamn delectable, all he’s ever wanted and he can’t stand it for a second longer, he buries his face in the heat of her fold, he licks her up._ _ _

___Sam is so metallic and so salty, metal and heat and fire, just like he always is, but more. Dean wants to suffocate inside her. He fucks her with his tongue before pulling away and swirling around the hard little nub of her clit, taking two fingers and sliding them into her easily so he can feel her heartbeat from the inside, her fevered pulse. She winces, stilling under him for a moment and mumbling, “That’s so weird. Good weird, but still weird.”_ _ _

___“Not like having your ass fingered?” Dean asks, eyes closed and blissed out as he lets his lips slide all over her where she’s spread out and a swollen and pink._ _ _

___“No, not quite,” she mumbles, working her hips up against Dean’s plush lips, breath getting sharp and animal as Dean closes his lips over her clit to suck on it. He crooks his fingers inside of her, pushing up against that spot he’s made hundreds of girls lose their mind over, and her breath catches, her thighs spasm. “Um,” she gasps, clit pulsing in Dean’s mouth and he might die right here, he really might. “Right there. That’s crazy.”_ _ _

___Dean finger fucks his sister in earnest, pumping in and out of the hot, tight clench of her, tongue lashing wet and hungry against her clit. Sam comes like a jackhammer, vaulting off the bed at the waist and grabbing Dean’s head, hips pumping hard into his mouth as she pulses into him, surges of hot fluid and Dean thinks _yes, yes_ , so thrilled by the whole crazy thing. He groans low and long, holding onto her ass, her thighs, whatever he can reach. _Fuck yeah_ he thinks, so amazed Sam is doing this with him _at all_ , let alone with such enthusiasm. _ _ _

___She flops back down onto the bed, wiggling away from Dean like his mouth hurts now that she’s come, like she’s too sensitive and too worked over. Dean follows her up the bed, breath still heavy and labored and between her thighs, where he can’t really stop kissing her, doesn’t _want_ to stop. _ _ _

___“Dude,” Sam wheezes, breath snagging over what might be an awed laugh. “You...that. You really liked it. I could tell.”_ _ _

___“Uh, _Yeah_ , I liked it,” Dean huffs, lips against the inside of Sam’s thigh. He’s not leaving, he knows girls can come over and over again, and that’s exactly what he plans on doing. He palms over the wet spot on the hotel sheets, bout the diameter of a half-dollar. Not much, but still. Something. And he was her first time, so that’s impressive, actually. “Did it turn you on? Knowing how much I liked it?” _ _ _

___Sam nods, hips beginning to move again, to hump the air lazily. Dean returns to her, all splayed folds glistening in spit and slickness, so perfect, so _Sam. > He kisses her and she shudders, pressing into the seam of his lips like she knows she can come again, too. “I like it when you’re desperate,” she says, threading long calloused fingers through Dean’s hair. __ _ _

____“I’m, pretty desperate to fuck you, Sammy,” Dean mumbles into the crease of his sister’s thigh, still lapping up sweat from the thatch of dark curls like he’s starved for it. “Just sayin’.”_ _ _ _

____Sam’s head lolls messily on the ruined sheets. “Yeah. Fine, ok. Fuck me. I guess we’ll never have this opportunity again, so. Do it.”_ _ _ _

____Dean stands over his sister, hands shaking as he unbuckles his jeans and shucks them along with his boxers, grimacing at the drag of threadbare cotton over the head of his cock all slick and smearing. Sam stares at him as he jerks himself off, eyes wide and kind of freaked out. “What?” Dean asks, mind slow and stupid over how good Sam looks, the pink wet splay of her, her come still sticky all over his chin._ _ _ _

____Sam shrugs, forehead twitching. “You’re just really...big.”_ _ _ _

____Dean grins, so complacent Sam actually rolls her eyes at him. “Aw, thanks Sammy,” he says._ _ _ _

____“I know you’re not used to being the bigger one between us,” Sam huffs, settling back down into the mattress. “But you are today. So, um.”_ _ _ _

____“Be gentle?” Dean asks as he crawls over her on all fours, mouth watering at all her golden skin, the ripple of muscle laid over her bones familiar and alien all at once. “I’ll be gentle with you, babygirl.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh _stop_ ,” Sam says, snorting. “I’m not _acually_ a girl.” _ _ _ _

____But as Dean pushes his cock up through her folds, just teasing her, she _feels_ like a girl, all warm and slippery. She _sounds_ like a girl, whimpering slightly as she bucks against him, slow and languid, spreading herself as he splits her. The fact that she _isn’t_ a girl makes it that much hotter, that much more strange and taboo and glorious. “Want me in you?” Dean asks, kind of choked. His heart is hammering, stomach all tied up in knots at the insanity of having Sam in this way, having Sam in _every_ way. _ _ _ _

____She nods, face scrunched up like she’s heard too many virginity stories before and thinks it’s going to hurt, but as he slides home into the impossible sucking heat of her she lets her head fall back, lips parted and panting as he fills her up. “Ungh,” Sam grunts, so sexy and unladylike with her blunt nails biting into Dean’s shoulders. “So weird good. You can go deeper.”_ _ _ _

____Dean’s abdominals shudder as he thrusts into his brother, his _brother_ , nothing can change that, not being balls deep in a girl’s body, not the rhythmic sway of Sam’s tits a he rocks into her. It feels insane, fucking Sam this way, feeling a different variation of the body he’s known like he knows his own body, since forever. He drops his forehead to hers, kisses the sweat from that furrowed brow and mumbles, “you feel so good. Love you every way, love you like this, love you when you’re you,” words coming out slurred and messy and raw like blood from a new wound. It’s been awhile since he fucked a girl without a condom like this, and its unbearably hot, unbearably wet. The fact that its his _brother_ only makes it better, so hot and so wrong. _ _ _ _

____“God, Dean,” Sam says hoarsely, sounding like Sam used to sound when he was pubescent, all squeaky and new. It makes Dean twitch inside her to hear his name like that, and he snaps his hips, drives hard into her until Sam winces, cries out. “Ow,” she says, tense but still working against him, glittering in a sheen of sweat. “Don’t stop, it’s just, ow. So weird, feels like you’re hollowing me out, like you’re in my insides.”_ _ _ _

____Dean doesn’t have it in him to hold on much longer anyway, he was grinding himself into the bed while he ate her out and now he’s shaking over her, pulsing deep into her, stomach writhing and tightening to keep a grip on his load. “Can I come in you? Not gonna knock you up or anything?”_ _ _ _

____“Don’t care,” Sam grinds out from behind her teeth, face screwed up and red and so sexy. Dean licks the sweat from her throat, rides her in earnest, long, deep thrusts that make her hiss and cringe and push back against him like it’s too much, but she wants it anyway. “Want you to knock me up, Dean, want all of you, too,” Sam says, voice all weak and syncopated with the slap of Dean’s hips and that’s it, he’s done for, he can’t stand the shit that’s coming out of Sammy’s lips._ _ _ _

____“Fuck, Sam,” he breathes as he lets go, emptying himself out into his brother, into this place on Sam’s body he’s never fucked before, never felt, never taken for his own until today. The novelty of it is maddening, makes Dean’s vision white out and his ears ring with the near painful force of his orgasm. “Fuck,” he repeats, collapsing onto Sam in a ruin of breath and sweat and static._ _ _ _

____“Dude,” Sam wheezes. “I can’t breathe. You’re _huge_ , you’re like _house._ ” _ _ _ _

____“Huh?” Dean grunts, still feeling like his lungs don’t quite work. “Oh.” he rolls off, realizing he’s used to Sam being able to take his full weight, which is kind of an unfair thing to assume of Sam _now_ , whose a good seventy pounds lighter, at least. “Sorry dude, you ok?” _ _ _ _

____She coughs, then gasps sharply as Dean slides out of her in a mess of come, little beads of almost translucent white pearled up in her pubes. It’s so fucking hot Dean has to get back down on his stomach, lick himself out of Sam’s fucked-raw hole like it’s his last meal until the end of forever. When he’s finally done he flops back onto the sheets, head level with her tits, both of which he admires with a shit-eating grin on his face. “You look pleased with yourself,” Sam says._ _ _ _

____“Sammy,” Dean says very seriously, laying a hand flat on her chest, on the sweat-dewy stretch of sternum between her tits. “That was awesome.”_ _ _ _

____She raises an eyebrow at him skeptically. “And you still want me back? With my dick and my pectorals and my superior wrestling skills?”_ _ _ _

____Dean nods emphatically, says, “Absolutely. But, this was fun. Right? It was fun, Sammy?”_ _ _ _

____She makes a face, then nods reluctantly. “It was fun. Super fun,” Sam admits. Then, rolling over onto her stomach, nipples inches from Dean’s lips as she leans over him, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. Dean swallows, blow away by how good it is to fuck his brother, how good it is to fuck him _every way_. “Are you done with me?” Sam asks. “Because, this body. It can keep going. I can keep going.” She almost sounds a little sheepish. _ _ _ _

____Dean sits up fast. “For real?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Sam mumbles, rubbing herself down Dean’s thigh experimentally, lower lip all chewed up between her teeth. It might have been the sexiest thing Dean’s ever seen a girl do, which figures, since he’s so fucked up over his brother every goddamn day of his life. “Plus, I only will look like this until tomorrow morning, right? So, we should, make the best of it. I think.”_ _ _ _

____Dean grinned, throwing his brother back down onto the bed, amazed he _could_ throw his brother when usually he was the one getting thrown. “Now you’re talking, Sammy,” he said. _ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _


End file.
